e list. One of
those horses has to win. Suppose I pick out the horse Roller Skate
for Philadelphia. Well, if Roller skates home that day I advertise in
the Philadelphia papers the next morning, and, besides that, every
fall-easy that got the tip advertises me to some of his friends, and
they all spike themselves to send in money for the dope. Oh, it's a
great game, all right."

"It's got yegging frazzled to a pulp," agreed Wallingford. "But I
oughtn't to yell police. I got the lucky word my first time out. I
played Razzoo and cleaned up six thousand dollars on the strength of
your wire."

"Go on!" returned Blackie delightedly. "You don't mean to say you're
sorting some of your own money there?"

"I sure am," laughed Wallingford, picking up a five-dollar bill. "I
think this must be it. What's the New York horse to-day?"

Blackie consulted a list that lay on his desk.

"Whipsaw," he said.

"Whipsaw! By George, Blackie, if there's any one thing I'd like to do,
it'd be to whipsaw some friends of yours on Broadway." Whereupon he
told Blackie, with much picturesque embellishment, just how Messrs.
Phelps, Teller, Banting and Pickins had managed to annex the Razzoo
money.

Blackie enjoyed that recital very much.

"The Broadway Syndicate is still on the job," he commented. "Well, J.
Rufus, let this teach you how to take a joke next time."

"I'm not saying a word," replied Wallingford. "Any time I let a
kindergarten crowd like that work a trick on me that was invented
right after Noah discovered spoiled grape juice, I owe myself a month
in jail. But watch me. I'll make moccasins out of their hides, all
right."

"Go right ahead, old man, and see if I care," consented Blackie.
"Slam the harpoon into them and twist it."

"I will," asserted Wallingford confidently. "I don't like them because
they're grouches; I don't like them because they're cheap; I don't
like their names, nor their faces, nor the town they live in. Making
money in New York's too much like sixteen hungry bulldogs to one bone.
The best dog gets it, but he finishes too weak for an appetite. What
kind of a horse is this Whipsaw you're sending out to-day?"

"I don't know. Where's the dope on Whipsaw, Tillie?"

A girl with a freckled face and a keen eye and a saucy air went over
to the filing-case and searched out a piece of cardboard a foot
square. Blackie glanced over it with an experienced eye.

"Maiden," said he; "been in four races, and the best